


eclipsed

by malachaism



Series: eclipsed [1]
Category: Legacies (TV 2018), Tangled (2010), The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:42:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malachaism/pseuds/malachaism
Summary: in the wake of a cosmic tragedy, a lost princess inherits the powers of a magical flower. after being isolated in a tower for eighteen years, the unbeknownst princess, josie, makes a deal with a thief to be her guide as she journeys to a kingdom that releases lanterns every year on her birthday.basically tangled but hosified <3
Relationships: Caroline Forbes/Klaus Mikaelson, Hope Mikaelson & Josie Saltzman, Hope Mikaelson/Josie Saltzman, Milton "MG" Greasley & Lizzie Saltzman
Series: eclipsed [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121885
Comments: 15
Kudos: 86





	1. clandestine moonlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celestargxnt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestargxnt/gifts).



ONCE UPON A TIME, BACK WHEN silence was common and the land was undisturbed, the sun was lonely. It took up each day, lit the whole world, but was never even given a glance. It was the reason for life, and yet all its creation would do was shield themselves from it, blinded by its power and potent glow.

The sun understood why it was left alone and didn't let that deter it from rising back up again each day. People needed it. The light. And the sun couldn't be cruel enough not to give them it.

However, when the sun sunk back down and prepared to illuminate the other side of the world, there was a prolonged moment where it had some company. Although separated by time and space, the moon would emerge on the opposite side of the horizon. The sun did not know if the moon noticed it, but every night the sun tried to communicate, transcending its light to the moon.

The moon shined gloriously and reflected the light back onto the land. Because of its dimmer intensity, people often stared at the moon in awe. Like it was a beacon of hope in the shadows of the night. The moon did not ask for it. In fact, it could not handle the attention every night. Even with its tendency to be hidden during the day.

So, slowly, it would disappear from the sky. Almost every night it was a different shape, curling inward towards itself until it had vanished. Like the sun, it would always come back, and with it came other lost messages from the sun: stars.

The stars were gifts. They were little, bright balls of energetic gas that came from the sun's very core, from what humans call their heart. The sun didn't want the moon to be lonely like it was, and so it created stars for companionship. The moon was appreciative, but it, too, became crestfallen, not knowing what mysterious source to thank.

It is said that the combination of their galactic sadness shook the cosmos. From this, a single star fell like a tear does from a glistening eye, but not harshly. Its impact did not unsettle the earth and blemish the surface. The star floated down through the atmosphere, past lingering clouds, and graced a cliffside flower with its power.

The flower had been dying, hidden under a ridge that blocked it from sun and rain. It was brown, wilting, and on the brink of being taken away with a wisp of wind. Then, in the form of a condensed water drop, the star enveloped the flower.

The plant's stem straightened with an envious posture, leaves grew like luscious hair, and the petals, once a fuchsia hue, had turned into a golden amber color. It became a sun that resided on earth.

However, the flower's magical radiance did not go unnoticed. A crone, wandering the forest with a hunched back and a defusing lantern swaying in her hand, saw its glow in the dead of night.

She managed to crawl down the crescent cliffside and reach the patch of land where the flower occupied. She shuffled through the wet dew of grass until she reached the majestic plant. Even the roar of the gushing river and the chill to the air couldn't alter her glee from her discovery.

Greedy hands clasped the flower by its stem, feeling the thickness of it that came from obvious strength. Her touch ventured upwards until she was caressing the petals that felt like silk against her fingers. She could sense the magic. She wanted it.

So with the years of knowledge and experience gathered, the old crone began to sing a passage of enchantment.

"Flower, gleam and glow. Let your powers shine. Make the clock reverse. Bring back what was once mine. What once was mine."

Through the incantation, the woman's groggy, withering voice transitions into smooth murmurs. Her wrinkly skin tightens back into a young, ample condition. Her grayed hair, frizzy and frayed, regains its glistening, black shine. The crone's age no longer shows, and her deteriorating heart now thumps vigorously in her chest like hooves against cobblestone.

Unlike the moon and the sun, the very powers of the universe that granted this magic, the woman was selfish. She wanted this power, this solution for immortality, all to herself. So she kept it hidden.

She was successful for hundreds of years. Through the rise and falls of kingdoms, the expansion of the world, the magical flower that blossomed from the heavens was just a myth no one bothered to falsify. Until, there was someone that desperately needed a miracle.

The queen of a beloved kingdom had fallen ill. It worried everyone, especially since in her protruding stomach were twins on the brink of being born. At the rate she was going, she wouldn't survive the birth.

Led by the most honorable knight of the land, Niklaus Mikaelson, the King's army set out in search of a cure. They scoured every hut tucked away in the remotest of villages, the depths of every forest, every forbidding cave that reeked of danger. Hope seemed to be lost.

Until, when departing from the flower after a countless number of times, the deceiving crone accidentally knocked over the artificial bush she kept over the plant. The yells exchanged by men and the thunderous collisions of horses trotting against the ground spooked her into a rush. In her absence, the flower glowed more mystically than it ever did before, a spotlight from the moon aiding in its luminescence.

A passing solider easily took notice and called the others over. Then, after the initial shock wore off, Niklaus Mikaelson ordered them to uproot it, and they rushed back to the kingdom where the King and Queen waited.

The flower was concentrated into an editable cup of tea that the queen sipped slowly. She was barely able to keep the cup to her lips, her weak hand trembling until suddenly it steadied. Color returned to her pale skin. Her lungs cleared and she gasped in the liberating air. The sickness that nauseated her and was the reason behind the fading dark circles underneath her eyes had ebbed. She felt healthy again, and from the lively kick she received from her stomach, she knew she wasn't the only one.

Soon, two baby girls were born, princesses and heirs to the kingdom. One had light blue eyes that resembled a clear sky and had already started to sprout blonde hair. The other had dark brown eyes, showcasing warmth, and had brown hair that seemed to glow amber in the sunlight. They were Princess Lizzie and Princess Josie, and they were loved by all.

To celebrate their joyous birth, King Alaric and Queen Caroline launched a flying lantern into the sky. Below the balcony of the castle, townsfolk did the same, relishing in the news that proved there would be light ahead of dark days.

The crone, Dahlia, had heard the same news, the one that claimed the Queen had been healed by a magical flower, and intended to wield the power again.

Late at night, when the entire kingdom was asleep, Dahila climbed over the railing of the balcony and snuck in undetected. Her bony fingers pushed open the glass doors without so much a creak. And soon she was hovering over both cribs, not knowing which child held the magical qualities.

Lizzie's blonde hair gained her attention first, but it was practically almost white, and when she twirled a strand around her finger, she sensed no supernatural energy. Then, she examined Josie, who was covered in a pale yellow nightgown. Josie's hair was a very dark brown in the darkness, another quality that made Dahila doubt either of these children had inherited any magic, but she tried again with her, anyway.

Only a few words into her familiar chant, Josie's hair gleamed like bronze, and the intruder gasped in surprise. She quickly took out a pair of scissors and snipped a piece off. But the essence of magic instantly evaporated in the clipped piece of hair, turning a lighter, duller shade of brown. Dahlia's face twisted into a grimace.

Initiating her backup plan, Dahila snatches Josie from her crib. Next to them, Lizzie stirs, awakening. Once her big eyes settle on the unsettling figure above her, she wails. Her crying alerts the guards, but Dahila is already scurrying away from the palace with her sister in her arms when they reach the room.


	2. crimson tied fates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> josie struggles with her isolation. hope's risky heist takes a wrong turn.

"WHY CAN'T I GO OUTSIDE?" JOSIE was merely a few years old when she asked the question.

The girl was sitting on the floor in a nightgown that resembled the one she wore when she was a baby. Behind her, leaning over in a chair, Dahlia brushed through her voluminous hair that had grown down her back. Her fingers occasionally carded through it, its softness reminding her of the golden flower's petals. But, she had a new flower now, and she was determined to keep it concealed.

"It is dangerous outside. The world is full of cruel people that want to harm you. You must stay in here, where it's safe. Do you understand, flower?" Dahlia warned, seeing the child's posture stiffen with fear even though she had kept her tone sweet.

"I understand, Mommy," Josie whispered.

While her mother continued to comb through her already-untangled hair, she stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace in front of them. She remembered not too long ago how she had gotten too close despite Dahlia's caution and was burned by an arraying ember. Most children would cry, even though it was just a sting and not a serious lesion, but the only thing Josie felt bad about was disobeying. As she was constantly reminded, her mother was always right, and at the end of the day, Josie knew nothing. There was no other option but to listen.

And that's exactly what Josie did for almost eighteen years.

In a stone tower, where moss was infused into many of the bricks, Josie was kept isolated from the world. Her fingers never ran through the cold water of the waterfall that spewed down one of the encircling mountains. Her feet never touched the vibrant green grass that surrounded the tower. She didn't know the sound that came when leaves crunched under her steps or what it was like to clumsily slip on a patch of ice. Josie always stayed inside, but her curiosity never dwindled.

Every morning, the first thing she did on her daily schedule was open the wooden shutters and gaze out the only window. Josie had perfected her routine until she woke up at dawn every day and was able to see the first glimpse of the sun peaking over the horizon. Besides her mother, who was still deeply asleep, and her pet chameleon, Adriel, that yawned tiredly on her shoulder, this was the only living thing she interacted with. She would grant it a gentle wave every morning, smiling fondly as it erased the bluish gray sky that came attached to twilight. She found it captivating how it burned red, sizzled to a soft orange, and eventually painted the sky golden. She even muttered "beautiful" unconsciously every time she peered out.

Dahlia found it foolish that her daughter treated the sun like a person and even told her so on numerous occasions. It was like Dahlia to criticize Josie, snickering at her handmade flower crowns and even snidely remarking on the faintest of wrinkles found within her yellow dress. But, Josie never let her mom's passive aggressive behavior deter her admiration for the bright, glorious light in the sky.

To the brunette, the sun wasn't just a gigantic star that blinded and stung whoever embraced its presence too much. From the blooming plants settled on the windowsill, sprouting violets and scarlets, Josie knew that if it could create something so serene and riveting, then it itself must be nothing short of brilliant. She had to believe that she wasn't the only one that realized that.

For the rest of the day, Josie put use to her many hobbies to preoccupy herself. Usually she would start off with some baking, whipping up delicious pastries and cakes that filled up the counter. She'd always clean up her mess and end up straying from the kitchen with her broom to tidy up the rest of the rooms.

About the time she was finished dusting and leaving the floors with an impressive sparkle, her mother would wake. The woman either settled down at the table with a cup of coffee Josie had brewed, pointing out missed spots, or stand in front of the mirror with smug eyes. She hadn't been that old crone with wrinkles and moles and wiry hair for years.

Today, Dahlia had sat at the table, and Josie joined her with a book she had read hundreds of times before. She opened it, placing the base of the spine on the table with a purposely loud thump, but Dahlia paid her no mind. Josie tried to focus on the printed words, but her wide eyes constantly flickered over the book at her mother.

Adriel, leaning against a salt shaker, huffed and splayed his webbed hands in the air from his frustration. Josie gives him a pointed look, her upside down mouth already displaying a natural frown. She was going to ask her. She had said so to Adriel countless of times over the past couple of weeks.

"What is it, Josie?" Dahlia muttered, her tone displaying her boredom. She doesn't even look up, fiddling with her arrangement of spices she frequently used to make dinner.

"Oh! Well, uh... you know tomorrow's my birthday," Josie began, fumbling with closing her book.

"It is?"

Josie's face dropped.

"I'm kidding," Dahlia laughed, finally glancing over at Josie.

Her long hair pooled down her back, circled her chair a few times, draped across the cobblestone floor, and even hung over the support beams of the ceiling. Josie brushed it every day to keep it flawlessly straight. It still held its smoothness and shine every night when Dahlia would routinely comb her hair; now well familiar with the song that made her hair glow and replenish her mother's youth, Josie would sing it herself.

"Oh." Her face relaxes, but her chestnut eyes still hold remnants of being wounded.

"You're turning..." Dahlia trails off, eyebrows puckering in thought.

"Eighteen."

"Right."

"Anyway, I figured out what I wanted for my birthday." At this, Josie has to grin a little. Adriel straightens up excitedly.

"Please tell me it's not any books. You have plenty and they are a pain to carry from the market." Dahlia clicked her tongue, returning her focus to organizing her spice rack that Josie had arranged in the wrong order yesterday. Dahlia had commented that it was fine, that she just simply had to do everything herself.

"No, it's no–"

"Or those paints. They're expensive and, quite frankly, you haven't gotten any better at painting."

"It's not paints," Josie breathed out, ignoring the insult laced into her mother's reply.

"Well, what is it? Spit it out." Her voice tightened with impatience.

Instead of answering, Josie stood and picked her journal up from the counter, her hair gliding around the floor from the movement. She flipped through the miscellaneous contents: the small doodles in the margins, written lyrics to songs she sung while prancing around the place, the occasional flattened flower or clover Adriel had plucked when she wasn't looking.

The dramatic sigh that left her mother made Josie wish she would have bookmarked the page; she used to have a red ribbon that she utilized as a bookmark, but a strong wind had carried it away when she was reading by the windowsill, and she didn't want to bother Dahlia to go look for it.

"Ah, here it is!" Josie explained when she opened to the right page, one that was dedicated to the only thing that inspired her more than the sun.

On the page, used with the aforementioned paints, was a memorized image Josie would see every year on her birthday. The background was blended with dark blues, glided over with jagged strokes of black on the bottom of the page to represent mountains. In the center, the most important part of the painting, were dappled shapes. The majority of them were sunflower yellow, but Josie made sure to capture the hint of orange to them.

Hesitantly, Josie flipped her journal in her mother's direction. Dahlia's malicious black eyes settle on the display, looking impossibly more unamused.

"I want to go see them," Josie said. Her entire body went slack at the confession; saying the words was a total and utter relief.

Dahlia scrunches up her face. "The stars?"

"No, these aren't stars. They're something different." Josie takes a few steps closer, her passionate evident within all of her features. "Every year, on my birthday, these lights float in the sky. And they're so... so beautiful. I just – I need a closer look. I can't help but think that somehow... they're meant for me."

It takes a prolonged moment for Dahlia to properly react. When she does, it's in the form of a condescending giggle and belittling eyes.

"You want to go outside? To see... whatever that is. Come on, Josie. You're smarter than that. Or, at least, I hope you are." Dahlia scoffs.

"Mother, I know that going outside is dangerous. But this is really important to me. I have never asked much of you, and I was thinking, maybe, if you came with me... I would be safe and..."

"No, Josie. My answer is no."

"Mother, please. I-"

"I said no! No, no, no!" Dahlia loses her temper and slams her palm down on the table. Josie freezes at her harshness. Heartache uncontrollably morphs her expression.

"Great. Now I'm the bad guy." Her mother groans, tipping her head back.

Quietly, Josie closes her journal and holds it to her chest. Her eyes glaze with unshed tears. Her bottom lip trembles. Even Dahlia couldn't miss how disappointed and upset her daughter was.

Knowing her voice would croak if she said anything more, Josie turned her back to her mother. With a nearby rag, she wiped down the stove even though the matte black surface was free of any stain. Somehow, she was able to hold her tears back, but she still felt foolish.

"Flower, I know how you're feeling. I, too, wish the world was different." Dahlia makes her way to stand behind her, tucking her daughter's russet hair behind her ear. "But you are delicate. You're special. It would take merely seconds for someone to crush you or use you for your gift. I am only trying to protect you."

Josie slowed her movements, daring to tilt her head over her shoulder. Dahlia's soothing strokes through her hair and what seemed like compassion intertwined within the soft octaves of her voice eased Josie's turmoil. She suddenly felt so selfish for asking. All her mother had done her entire life was keep her safe, and after all, how could she possibly face the dangers of the world? She was a girl with seventy feet of enchanted hair that held a power anyone would be tempted to steal. A jaggedly cut section of hair, curling near the end and hidden underneath the rest, was a constant reminder of that brutal truth.

"I know," Josie whispered before biting the inside of her cheek, and for once, Dahlia didn't scold her about it.

"I have an idea. Why don't I go into town and pick up a few things for dinner tonight? I'll make your favorite."

Josie nodded and managed to fake a small smile. "Sounds nice."

After a chaste kiss is planted on her daughter's head, Dahlia shuffles away to find her basket and cloak. Josie cleans up the stray dishes left on the table and puts them in the sink. As water runs over them and soap suds bubble and foam, Josie internally dismisses her plans for pottery and finishing the wool cap she was knitting. She felt like crawling under the covers, holding her journal close, and having her trusty pen scrape over a new page.

Light contact on her forearm, where her sleeves were rolled up, gained her attention. Josie looks down to see Adriel embracing her, little arms stretched wide open and his head nuzzled against her skin. This time, Josie smiles genuinely, returning the affection with soft caresses of her fingertips.

"Everything is alright, Adriel. Being inside isn't so bad. Besides, I most certainly am not alone," she murmurs fondly, seeing the concern in his hazel eyes. Adriel sighs, holding onto her tighter. Josie knows he is not satisfied, but she refuses to admit that she isn't, either.

•••

"I HATE DOING JOBS DURING this time of the day." Landon Kirby squints away from the rays of sunlight; to him, it was like daggers to his retinas.

Beside him, Rafael, a fellow thief, scoffs. The hood of his musty gray attire, tightened to his body by worn brown leather, was already up to shield him from the blinding light.

"Cheer up, brother. We have another view to appreciate," he responds, his eyes pinpointed on the backside of the girl in front of them. Landon continues to frown, but joins Raf in his gawking.

Without the help of her fellow accomplices, Hope Marshall tightens the rope around her waist. Her curled, auburn hair is tucked into the hood of her ruby red cloak, but tendrils still fall to frame the delicate, doll-like features of her face. She tunes out the chatter of the two boys just like she normally did whenever she is forced to work with others. Usually, she went about things alone, but with a job as big as this, she needed a little backup.

Recruiting the petty thieves didn't take much convincing. She had been victim to their incessant gaping and unimpressive flirting whenever she visited The Sleeping Hag, a tavern that was always swarming with crooks and bellowing men. It only took the flutter of her eyelashes and a charming smile to get them to agree to her plan.

They had made it to the roof of the palace without being detected, despite a close call with a few guards by the perimeter. It wasn't the guards that were a problem per say; Hope knew they were only an issue if they were banned together instead of separated into groups of two or three. The real obstacles were the palace's trained horses, one of which Hope swore had a personal vendetta against her.

After skillfully removing a panel from the sunroof, Hope finally looked over her shoulder at her partners. They immediately avert their eyes but with enough delay that Hope recognized they were staring. She doesn't dwell on it, but the annoyance simmering in her indigo eyes is obvious.

"Everything is secure. I need you both to lower me down. Slowly. Nothing will alert the guards more than me falling face first."

"Right. That'd be a pretty loud impact," Landon noted, hands grasping around the end of the rope, which was slung around a battlement for leverage. Rafael joined him.

"I was talking about the disturbance that would be me murdering you both, but yeah. That, too."

Before Hope could gauge their reactions, she slipped into the opening and both of the boys were forced to tighten their grip to hold her weight. Just as she instructed, they descended her slowly. The bandit floated down like a feather, her eyesight plagued with the rich, royal colors of tapestries, flowing carpets, and the sparkling jewels encrusted into the very crown she was about to steal.

She had known about the Crown Room ever since she was a little girl. It was a rather spacious area despite the fact it only held two stands with plush cushions to support the regal crowns. They were meant for the princesses when they turned of age, but only one remained, completely alone behind its glass shell ever since Princess Lizzie was granted hers on her sixteenth birthday. The King and Queen hadn't bothered to move it, even after all these years, because they had faith that, somehow, their lost daughter would return to them.

The whole kingdom still mourned the tragedy of the abducted princess. It was why it had became an annual event for them to release the lanterns, something Hope herself used to partake in — but that was a different time. She was a different person. She was an excellent thief, possibly the best, and anything else she ever tried to be died when her parents did.

Landon, who was peering in from up above, motioned for his friend to halt when Hope's fingerprints smudged the glass. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a pair of guards in the doorway, but their backs were facing her. As long as she was quiet, she would be successful.

With a gentleness most outlaws lacked, Hope lifted the surprisingly heavy dome off of the pedestal. Slender fingers clasp the crown, the cool touch of pure gold seeping into her palm. Meanwhile, up above, the springtime air, ingrained with pollens, provokes Raf to sneeze. His hand jerks on the rope, yanking Hope away and making her loose her grip on the protective case.

Glass shatters against the stone floor, and Hope hears the rattle of chained armor before she sees the stoic expressions of the guards transition into fury. With wide eyes, Hope tugs on the rope urgently, an indication for them to pull her up and fast. Despite their fumble, they were able to do so before swords clashed and arrows were fired.

Once settled on top of the roof again, Hope mutters how stupid they are and unravels herself. The blaring alarms are already going off, consisting of the reverberating noise of bells clanging from each of the towers.

"You had to sneeze," Landon huffs, his voice laced with the same irritation it normally does, because anything anyone did or said was a personal offense against him.

"I have allergies!" Rafael said pointedly, scanning the ground to see where the guards were flooding together.

"And I have no more patience for the two of you. Let's go!" Hope growls. With the crown safely tucked away into her satchel, she jumps off the roof.

Shocked, both boys stumble over to the ledge. They relax once they see the crimson armor of Hope's outfit on a balcony a few feet below. She uses the ivy growing up the walls of the castle to climb the rest of the way down. With a manner that isn't as calculated or graceful, they follow her lead, urged by the shouts and heavy footfalls not too far behind them.


	3. fool's gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a rude awakening leads to lizzie dwelling on what-ifs. hope's narrow escape poises new opportunities and impending threats.

PRINCESS LIZZIE WAS AWOKEN, not from the clash of metal against metal resonating from the bell towers, but by the incessant knocking on her door. She groaned, burying her head underneath one of her drool-stained pillows. Despite her effort to drown out the noise, Lizzie knew there was no use in trying to fall back asleep.

The hiss that came from air slicing through grinding teeth coincided with how she flung her pillow away and shuffled across the room. She twisted the knob like a fighter would snap someone's hand back. Except instead of causing a fractured wrist, Lizzie managed to fling the door open.

MG, in his training attire, stood before her. His silver-colored armor adorned his ebony skin and broad shoulders. Lizzie would never admit it, especially in her disgruntled mood, but he looked handsome.

"What do you want?" Lizzie seethed.

The only effect her harshness causes is an educement of his smile. He skimmed past her grumpiness, the venomous gleam to her eyes, and the frigidness of her entire stance. He only saw the tangled mess of her platinum hair, the enticing roughness of her morning voice, and the pinch of pink that dusted her cheeks from a long night of rubbing against her pillowcase.

"You look lovely," he says softly, and he means it.

Lizzie, now remembering her appearance, instinctively raises her hand to pat down the wildness of her hair. "Of course I do. You still didn't answer my question."

"I have some news. I thought you would want to hear it from me."

"Okay." Lizzie gets distracted by fixing herself, combing through her hair with her fingers while she steps away to go look in a mirror. MG takes this as an invitation and steps into her chambers.

He had been inside her room a few times before. A few instances included him guiding her back and making sure she was safely tucked into bed after she had gotten too carried away at a party. Others were when she called him in from the hall and modeled different outfits for him. Then, there was the one time he comforted her after he overheard her crying her eyes out about some stable boy she swore she was in love with — although she likes to pretend that never happened.

"Well, don't make me die from anticipation. I already had a close call yesterday when I saw my dad's horrid new haircut," Lizzie announces from her vanity. In the mirror, their eyes meet; Lizzie's eyes, resembling crystal, softened just the slightest. To MG, ice had never been such a warm color.

"The other crown was stolen this morning. The one meant for your sister," he announces from the edge of her canopy bed.

Lizzie freezes. The hair clip with sapphires fused into it stopped midway from securing a section of her hair. But then she blinks once, and continues on like he had just given her a report about the weather.

"Not like anyone was using it."

"Lizzie."

"What? I'm sure our knights will find it. You know, the real knights. The ones who actually go out past the walls instead of play fighting with wooden swords," Lizzie says with her famous patronizing tone.

MG shakes his head at the jab meant for him, knowing she was just lashing out. He watches her clear her waterline of any crust that formed while she was asleep.

"People are saying it was Hope," he added.

"Maybe it was. I'm sure she likes to go for whatever she can get her grubby little hands on."

"Lizzie, she's your friend."

"Just because we used to play together when we were, like, five doesn't mean I want to get matching tattoos together. She probably already has one with a grimy pirate who has a hook for a hand," Lizzie muses with a bitter laugh. "She's an outlaw, MG. She belongs with her kind."

"Do you even hear what you're saying?" His voice is sharper this time. He usually never loses his temper with Lizzie, but he was sick of condoning her childish behavior.

Lizzie swipes some makeup over her lips, turning them a lighter shade of pink. "You mean the truth?"

"You know what? You should really consider growing up."

"And you should really consider leaving." Lizzie doesn't miss a beat. Her gaze is back to being hollow. Her voice lacks any remnants of empathy.

The boy doesn't utter another word, quietly exiting the way he came. When he's gone, Lizzie drops her hands from her face. Her reflection stares back at her, and her eyes dip with remnants of sadness.

Fingers reach inside of a drawer. They sweep under letters from past lovers, a pin cushion full of needles, and spools of thread she used to fix up her gowns. Her dainty hand pulls out the crown she was gifted almost two years ago.

At first, Lizzie was excited when she had gotten it. Her love of shiny and sparkly things was no secret. Her parents expected her to wear it everyday, and she held the same expectations of herself, but after a few days, she felt... wrong. As if something was missing.

No one knows this, not even MG, but she slipped away to visit the Crown Room during that time. The guards, after one stern glance, parted from the entryway and allowed her in. She saw the other crown still mounted up on its stand, wondering how different things might have been if her sister were there.

Lizzie knew she wasn't the easiest person to deal with. It still surprises her how MG still offers up his friendship after all the times she's pushed him away and spat out mean things. But, if she grew up with a sister, her twin, the person who's supposed to be her other half, Lizzie liked to think they would have been close.

Deep down, underneath all the immaturity and hostility, Lizzie wished she could have protected her.

•••

THE BLACK COAT OF ELEXUS gleamed underneath the sunlight, which was ruptured from hovering tree branches and scattered all over the forest floor. He trotted at a pace faster than the other horses. Wind whipped his inky mane behind him as his nose detected all kinds of scents, but really he was only looking for one.

His rider, perched on his sturdy back, let occasional praises fall from his thin lips. Lex only tolerated him out of duty. Otherwise, he might have "accidentally" thrown him off earlier when they were crossing the bridge. Elexus could picture the weight of the man's body leaving him and causing a huge splash as he hit the water down below. This wasn't unusual behavior; the steed hadn't bonded with any rider assigned to him in years.

Suddenly, the fragrance he was searching for is sensed, and he makes a hard left, something that actually almost does throw the man off his back. It's a specific mixture, one that reminded him of the smell that came with the first few drops of rain sinking into the earth and the crisp air of a winter night. She always smelled fresh, lively, even if she was layered with other odors. Lex could never forget her scent.

Not too far ahead, Hope Marshall is sprinting like she was the embodiment of a getaway car. Rafael is at her heels, his arms slicing the air with each impressive stride. Landon is farther behind, panting with his face flushed a brilliant red. His curly mop of hair sticks to his forehead, and he resists the urge to suggest a break.

"They're gaining on us," Raf heaves out, slowly slightly.

"I know," Hope rasps.

Her eyes dart back and forth around the area, mapping out a potential route that would throw the knights off their trail. Ahead of them, she spots a cliff high enough off their level of ground that would make the men have to abandon their horses to climb. Even if they continued their hunt, Hope was positive she could escape them if they were on foot.

"Follow me," she commanded, turning her body in the direction of the ledge.

Once she reaches the wall of dirt, it takes longer than she anticipated for the boys, specifically Landon, to catch up. After the three of them were together again, Hope instructs the two of them to lift her up. Out of breath and not bothering to question her, they do as they are told, and with the strength of her upper body, Hope hauls herself over top of the cliff.

She sighs contently, and from the added height, she spots the group of knights heading right towards them. Below her, Landon sinks onto one knee and hoists his friend up. Raf struggles to stay balanced, a hand reaching up and waiting to be pulled.

"Hope, come on." There's urgency in his voice because he, too, can hear the impending crowd coming to arrest them.

Hope glances down, looking as disinterested as she's ever been. She merely hums in response.

"Pull me up!"

"Yeah... I don't think so."

"What?" He gasps. Landon wobbles underneath of him, not knowing how long he can hold Rafael up.

"You two are only slowing me down," Hope puts simply.

"What about our money?! We were supposed share whatever we got from selling the crown!" Landon exclaims, one his eyelids twitching from stress.

The strain is too much and Landon has to pull his hands out from under Rafael's boots. They both tumble to the ground, groaning from the impact of colliding with jagged land.

Abruptly, a thick layer of clouds roll in, accompanied by a deafening boom of thunder. Hope grins at the noise. She felt as if, for once, the universe was on her side.

"Rain check?" Hope shrugs, and for the first time in a long time, her blue eyes shimmer with amusement.

She is long gone before the army predictably catches the two thieves she betrayed and left behind. They are tackled and cuffed and searched. The men's satisfaction is dwindled, however, when they realize neither of them have the crown.

Elexus has his snout to the ground, following a trail and paying no mind to what his fellow officers were busy doing. His impeccable sense of smell leads him to the cliff. His neck cranes at an awkward angle when he rubs his nose up the wall. He neighs in irritation, understanding that she must have made it over.

Deeper into the forest and now showing signs of exhaustion, Hope slows her pace. Lightning flashes across the sky and the rumble of thunder only draws nearer. She knew it was about to pour soon, and if she didn't find any sort of shelter, she would be victim to what appears to be a nasty storm.

Once again, she utilizes her keen sight to spark a solution. Hope supposed she would rest against a tree truck if the leaves provided enough cover, but she didn't like the idea of being out in the open. Any taverns or small villages were settled on the other side of the forest, and so her only luck would be an astray homestead. Although, Hope doubted anyone would take residence here. This area was far away from, well, everything.

Her aching feet coerced her to lean on a mountainside. She walked along with her hand pressing against the rocky surface, wondering if there was a shallow cave carved out for her to ride out the storm in. Just when her fingers touch the smooth surface of vines, Hope loses her balance and falls inward.

The vines had been acting as a thick curtain, but instead of hiding the contents of a murky cave like she predicted, she finds herself in the beginnings of a secluded field. Mountains surround the grand expanse of land, one of them sprouting a waterfall that slithered into a small stream. Overgrown grass raises to her knees, but it is not stained yellow and dry; it's a healthy shade of green. Wildflowers flourished in miscellaneous groups, containing the most vivid colors she's ever seen. Hope had to admit to herself that it was beautiful. All of it.

Then, Hope's attention shifts. Her enlightened gaze falls on the tall tower, settled in the middle of all the serenity. She doesn't hesitate to embark towards it, drawn in like a moth to a flame, like an off-orbit planet to an enveloping black hole. She strides forward as if it was her destiny.


	4. a song of clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> josie's eventful encounter with hope ignites a sense of courage.

JOSIE NEVER LIKED TO FEEL SORRY for herself. To her, it was like placing the blame on anyone except herself, and even with her limited social experiences, she knew that was not the way to go about life. She owned up to her mistakes so much that she rarely noticed her tendency to pick up other people's burdens as well.

It was why from a young age, Josie took on a lot of responsibilities. Her mother was too tired to clean? Josie's small fingers learned to grasp a rag and swipe over every surface of their home. Her mother complained about having no more free time because of schooling her? Josie taught herself how to read, handle the complicated steps of mathematics, and memorized the epic events in history books. A wounded chameleon, clearly only a few weeks old, shows up on her windowsill? She nurses him back to health and treats him as an equal rather than an inferior pet.

This made the unbeknownst lost princess alone in a peculiar way. It didn't matter if her mother was beside her, taking up the majority of the conversation as usual, or if she even had Adriel to confide in. Josie was by herself with the weight of a world she didn't understand on her shoulders. And when she couldn't fix the impossible, say the right thing when someone expected a revolutionary answer, she felt like a failure.

Josie expressed these feelings of frustration and self loathing with smooth strokes of ink across the pages of her journal. Somewhere along the way, what was meant to be a diary had turned into a plethora of poems. Sometimes the poems turned into excerpts of songs that Josie unconsciously hummed.

The melodious ring of Josie's voice as she sung one of her passages almost made Hope stumble and fall from the intimidating height she had climbed. After figuring out there was no stairs or entryway, Hope knew her only option was to ascend up the tower herself. The bandit was barely able to nudge her fingers between the crevices of loose stones. It took the remainder of her strength, grunts frequently resonating from the back of throat, to make it to the only window.

The soles of her shoes stuck to the wall as she constantly pushed off for leverage, her attentive eyes always catching sight of a relatively secure spot to grab at. If it wasn't for her years of acquired skill and learned tactics, she wouldn't have made it more than five feet off the ground.

At the indication there was someone inside, Hope did not instinctively skim her fingers over the knife tucked into her knee-high boot. Instead, seated on the wide windowsill, she peaked in through the crack of the closed shutters. To her disappointment, she couldn't catch sight of anyone.

Still, logic, the very thing she has always relied on, couldn't exist at the same time when that angelic voice broke through the sound of Hope's own heart thudding against her eardrums. She was strained, tired, but she did not allow her eyes to droop and her posture to slacken. She was mesmerized by this stranger and her beautiful ballad; there wasn't any room to contemplate anything else.

_i was not made to quell wars  
i was not made to be  
a saving grace  
i'm in every drop of blood spilt  
the unchanging scar  
who do you think you are?_

_if i'm not the solution  
does it make me  
the problem?  
maybe i'm just the aftermath  
of when you go too far  
who do you think you are? _

Josie's harmony fades away after singing the rest of the lines, and Hope can hear the shuffle of feet do the same. Hesitantly, the runaway thief opens up the shutters, wincing when they creak.

Her round eyes scan the expanse of a neat and organized kitchen. Everything was accented with pastels; the cabinets were coated in a blush color, the chairs and table had yellow paint chipping away in some spots from wear, and the small couch of the living area tucked into the corner was filled with lavender cushions. Despite being rather enclosed, the air was not stuffy and mingled together with dust. It smelled just as awakening as the outside. Floral scents and aromas that normally came from a fine bakery swirled around the atmosphere.

Silently, her boots settle on the stone floor while she crept inside. She was alert, ready to catch any slight movement or pick up on any disturbing noise. Now, sense was kicking in, and she couldn't believe she had entered the home without being more prepared. She should have waited, inspected and paid attention to the dynamics of the owners. Hope hadn't the slightest idea of how many people resided here, if there were any other exits in case she needed a quick escape, or the reason why the tower was so purposely hidden from the world.

After eyeing the staircase on one side of the dimmed room, Hope concluded that whoever was home had went up them. She relaxed slightly, inching a few steps forward and taking the chance to examine the space. Nothing sparked suspicion within her; no animal heads were mounted to the wall and no collection of bloodstained weapons were openly laid out on the table like you would find at The Sleeping Hag.

Her guard was down yet again. Fingertips even glided over the surface of the table cloth, its sleekness reminding her of the silk red ribbon she now used as a shoelace for one of her boots. She looked down at her feet, remembering how she escaped the clutches of a foolish man that thought he could take advantage of her. He had knocked her trusty blade from her grasp, so she had to get creative. Yanking her shoelace from her boot and slinging it around his bulging neck seemed to do the trick.

The abrupt pour of rain, sounding like the synchronized march of an army, startled her. Hope spun around, fists clenched and ready to collide with someone's jaw. At the realization it was just the weather, she calmed. She gravitated back towards the window because thunderstorms always captivated her, but, because of this, Hope missed a figure slipping out of the shadows.

A rolling pin knocked against Hope's temple and sent her to the floor. Josie squealed, adrenaline pumping through her veins from the presence of an intruder. Her hair was haphazardly bundled in her arms, some of it still skimming across the floor behind her, but she still managed to swing the kitchen utensil with such force that it rendered Hope unconscious.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." The words were rushed out and barely decipherable. She constantly shifted her weight from one foot to another, unable to stay still.

Josie took in a few breaths, quick but deep, and she racked her brain on what to do next. The girl had no idea why the stranger had snuck in, but after being plagued with ideas that mankind was selfish and perverse, she couldn't help but assume the worst. Images of rope stinging her retrained wrists, sharp points of daggers piercing her skin, and the haunting snip that came with her hair being cut invaded her thoughts.

She felt lucky to be alive.

Still, despite her fears, Josie's brown eyes held a sprinkle of concern. Teeth gnawed at her bottom lip as she takes a step closer. With the end of the rolling pin, she poked at the body clad in crimson armor, wondering if she had seriously hurt them.

"Are you dead?" Josie asks shakily. Her prodding gained enough force to turn the invader onto their backside.

Josie audibly gasped at the sight of the unresponsive girl on the polished floor. She looked not much older than her, but Josie could easily claim that she was prettier. Flawless porcelain skin, defined lips that were a hue of rouge, and long eyelashes that rested against round cheekbones were all that Josie could comprehend for a moment. Eventually a frown altered her awed expression, resentful of herself for leaving a protruding bump on the smooth planes of the mysterious stranger's face.

Without much thought, Josie swept a ringlet of her reddish brown hair away from her face, questioning just about everything she knew to be true.

"Please don't be dead." This time her tone is in the form of a plea.

Knowing her mother would be returning soon, especially due to the merciless rain, Josie acted impulsively. As much as she would be satisfied by studying all the edges and curves of the outsider's stunning features, Dahlia would not be happy to find her sprawled out on their kitchen floor.

Hauling the unconscious girl up the stairs had been a struggle. Josie was surprised that she hadn't awoken, especially since she lost her grip more times than she would admit and dropped Hope in many awkward positions. That and the amount of times she stepped on her own flowing hair caused her to wince often.

Once they reached the confinements of her tidy bedroom, Josie was out of breath. She goes to guide Hope onto her bed, but then pauses. There was no lock on her door, something Josie hadn't ever minded because privacy was rare with her domineering mother, which meant if Dahlia happened to walk in unannounced, she would see the newcomer.

Josie didn't know why it was an instinctive response to keep her arrival a secret. Maybe securing the stranger and dealing with the issue herself would prove her mother wrong. Maybe if Josie got her in the right mood, showed her just how capable she really is, then Dahlia might change her mind about going to see the floating lights.

Josie nodded to herself at the conclusion she came to. She would keep Hope's presence a secret until it was time to add proof to her fermenting argument. After spending the day being depleted and hopeless from her mother's scolding, Josie's optimism returned.

The determined brunette substituted her original idea of lying the intruder on the bed for cramming her in the closet. Josie admittedly felt bad for stuffing the girl in there like she was a broom, but she nestled a pillow between Hope's head and the wall so her neck wouldn't get sore; it eases her conscious slightly.

"I hope you don't completely freak out when you wake up. I am going to let you go. I don't know what your intentions are, but I'd like to believe you meant me no harm. I just need you to stay quiet while I have a talk with my mother. She believes me to be weak, fragile, but, between you and me, I think I can learn to be stronger. Braver." Josie is crouched down beside her when she says this. Her voice comes out in whispers, and her tone holds the same genuine caress as her amber eyes.

Her gaze trickles down away from the girl's face to the red leather of her attire that is situated over chain link armor. She analyzes the worn gloves on her hands, the scuff on the soles of her boots, and the satchel slung over her torso. Josie understands that the person in front of her was a fighter. Someone who never stood down and only rose again and again every time an enemy knocked her down.

Josie knew it was unwise to do so, but she admired her. She didn't know her at all. It is entirely possible that the only reason she slips on gloves every day is so blood doesn't stain her hands. But Josie couldn't help but have faith in a different prospect. One that meant this stranger was supposed to stumble in right when Josie needed a sign to keep reaching, to keep trying for a future that didn't end and begin with the walls of this tower. Perhaps Josie was too caught up in a fantasy, but that did not make her loosen her grip on the hope of a better tomorrow.

"Thank you for showing up. I'm sorry that I hurt you. I was afraid of you, but now... I'm starting to think maybe I shouldn't be," Josie continued to whisper despite the fact Hope could not retain her words.

The shrill voice of her mother, down at the base of the tower, interrupts Josie's epiphany. "Josie! Let down your hair! It is pouring and I am soaked!"

"That's her. Stay here. I'll be back," Josie speaks to Hope once more before she stands and closes the closet door. For good measure, she drags a chair across the room and hooks it underneath the knob.

While Josie stomps down the stairs to tend to her awaiting mother, Hope dreamed.


	5. through the facade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> subconsciously, hope delves into a life-altering memory. lizzie sets a plan of her own in motion.

_LITTLE, OUTSTRETCHED ARMS reach for outside world. A handcrafted window seat grants her the needed height, the sanded wooden planks pressing against her knees. In the palms of her cupped hands, rain drops are collected._

_Hope is merely seven years old, having nothing but a thin white nightgown to protect her from the night's chill. Her hair, a more vibrant shade of red, reaches just past her shoulder blades. Freckles that have yet to fade with maturity dusts her cheeks. She is young, unscarred by fate, and fascinated by the storm._

_"Young lady, what do you suppose you're doing?" Hope glances over her shoulder at the voice, the words coming out playful instead of a scolding tone. She smiles at the man in the doorway. "You're going to catch a cold."_

_"I don't care," the redhead says dreamily._

_Her blue eyes, the same shade as the man's, radiate wonder. Her gaze returns to the view before her, watching the tiny streams of water slide down her skin before joining the puddles on the ground. The rain's coolness is liberating, and she cannot fathom how anyone would flinch away from its empowering caress._

_Her father makes his way across the room, hands tucked behind his back and his amused grin growing. "Ah, but I'm the one that will have to put up with your incessant — and adorable, I will admit — sneezing."_

_He joins her, sitting down right next to her. His gaze settles on the vacant streets, the rain pattering down on the cobblestone. Their home is right outside the palace walls; he is close enough to see the guards switching shifts for the night, moonlight bouncing off their armor. He remembers both when he used to be stuck with that novice duty and when he used to be bold enough to infiltrate the walls for his own desires._

_"Mommy won't mind."_

_"No, I suppose she won't, but she would agree with me."_

_"She never agrees with you," Hope giggles. A few droplets slide down her arms when she raises them at an angle._

_"That's because your mother is stubborn. Like you," Klaus accuses, fingers wiggling to tickle her sides, which provokes more laughter from his daughter. She tries to dodge him, scooting to the other side of the bench, but he captures her and situates her on his lap._

_After a lot of breathless complaints, he stops his teasing and allows her to slump against him. His strong arms are wrapped around her little body, providing her with a security that made her feel invincible. Hope was not easily terrified, even when she was younger than she was now, because Klaus had made it clear from the beginning he would always protect her. To her, he was fearless of anything and anyone, and she hoped that one day she could be just like him._

_"Tell me a story." Hope cranes her neck to look up at him with big eyes and fluttering lashes. Her voice contains the beginnings of sleepiness, the energetic day she had finally catching up with her._

_"Alright. Let me see... okay. Once upon a time..."_

_"No, not a made up one. A real one," his daughter clarifies with a vigorous shake of her head._

_"I've just about told you all of my stories. Despite the stigma, being a general to an army is not very eventful unless there's a war, and we haven't been at war in ages," Niklaus explained, staring down at his daughter with a gentleness only reserved for her._

_"What about before you were a knight?"_

_"Before I was knight, I was not an honorable man. Let's leave it at that."_

_Hope sits up, frowning. "That can't be."_

_"It can, and it was." Klaus gave her a pointed look, one she quickly returned. "I did some things I'm not particularly proud of."_

_"Like what?"_

_"Things you will never do because I raised you to know better. Because you are better," he claims with such conviction that she felt the rumble of his syllables in her bones._

_She processes his words, blinking slowly. Her tiny hands rest on his chest, feeling his warmth and the quiet thump of his heart. Eventually, she peers back up at him, a depth in her eyes that children rarely possess._

_"I think you were better than you thought. Because if you weren't, then you wouldn't have become who you are now," Hope puts it in the best way she could, but the message is undoubtedly received: if he was good enough to want to change, then he couldn't have been so bad after all._

_He smiles fondly at the girl, leaning down closer. "You want to know a secret? The truth is, you're my greatest story, Hope. My daughter, my heir. You're my beginning and will go on long after my end. And you'll make me proud through it all."_

_Hope grins at his confession, a brightness to her wide eyes that seemed as if would never fuse. She throws herself further into his arms and clasps tightly onto him. She falls asleep like that, as the rain drizzles down, as the subtle weight of Klaus' chin is placed atop of her head, and as the memory of this moment imprints into her soul._

•••

THE SPRINGS WITHIN THE THIN, worn mattress of MG's shared quarters creaked when he collapsed on his bed. His armor was thrown about haphazardly on the floor, only the under layers of his clothing remaining and stained with patches of sweat. Most days he ended up like this: exhausted from training and in need of a bath.

He hadn't planned on getting up for awhile if at all for the rest of the evening, but firm knocks on his door reopened his heavy eyelids. He groaned, not from the interruption, but from the soreness of his muscles when he stood; somehow, despite the frequency of the exercises, they still ended up straining him like it was his first day on the job.

The first thing his mind perceived when he opened the flimsily-nailed-together door was a plate intercepting the expanse of his vision. It was risen to his face, and he smelt the wafers before he recognized them neatly lined along the center in a circle. The clean, flawlessly shaped nails holding up the dish revealed the identity of his guest before she rushed out her greeting.

"I came with a peace offering," Lizzie announced curtly. As abruptly as the plate was lowered, revealing the unusual awkwardness to her flickering gaze, it was pushed towards MG's chest, forcing him to take it.

Without an invitation, Lizzie slips right past him. A grimace quickly contorts her face when she examines the small, grimy room. Her harsh gasp is audible once she realizes the floor was merely packed dirt; she lifts the skirt of her sparkling blue dress off the ground.

The soft collision of the door shutting behind her reminds her to turn around and put on what she thinks is a convincing smile. "Well, isn't this... homey."

"Lizzie," MG laughs at her quirky behavior, a side she rarely shows, "what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to apologize. Earlier... you know, maybe I was too-"

"Bitter?" He fills in, the word muffled because of his full mouth.

"I was going to say impolite, but if that's the word you want to use, I suppose that's accurate enough," Lizzie relents.

The princess already looked out of place on her own with her soft curls framing her angelic face, the diamond necklace resting atop her collarbone, and the expensive fabrics of her attire. But the addition of her standing on her tippy toes, trying not to stain her satin slippers and wobbling in the center of the room, presented a comical appearance.

"You can sit down on my bed, if you want."

He watches her eye the piece of furniture nestled into the left corner and then glance back down on the ground. MG shakes his head and sets the half empty plate on a nearby shelf. Within a quick stride, he bends down and picks her up effortlessly, ignoring his protesting muscles. Lizzie is surprised by the gesture, but remains silent.

"Thank you," Lizzie mumbles once she is settled; MG sits next to her.

"No problem," MG speaks softly.

Lizzie peers over at the boy beside her, the warmth within his brown eyes completely returned instead of showcasing a black tar of distaste. She wipes the palms of her hands on her dress, unsettled by how it felt like the tables had turned between them. Usually, she was the one in control, the one leading, and now she had shown up to his doorstep for his approval.

Maintaining eye contact had become too overwhelming, and she falters, tilting her chin down to look at her lap. Like always, MG notices the shift in her mood. A crease forms between his brows and he hesitantly places a hand over hers, expecting the rejection he has always gotten, but instead she just stops her anxious shifting.

"Are you alright?"

"I've never been good at maintaining a friendship. You obviously know," Lizzie begins, breathing out a long sigh. It wasn't uncommon for her to rant, but this was not an explanation, it was a confession, a glimpse into a soul others doubted that she even had. "But I was thinking all day about the crown and Hope... and I'm tired of sitting back and watching everything fall apart. I have a sister who's been missing my entire life. My parents don't even sleep in the same bed anymore. And now my ex best friend is going to end up executed because of her own stupidity."

"Lizzie-"

"Let me finish. I know I'm selfish. And spoiled. And everything people say I am. I care more about keeping my cuticles in tact than considering someone's feelings. But, I want to change. I want to be better."

This time when Lizzie grants a stare his way, her mind clears. The confidence that had been dwindled by guilt returns. It's apparent by the lively spark in once saddened eyes and the perked corner of her mouth. MG didn't have to console her or say the right words, because just being in his presence, seeing the blind acceptance he had always given her, reminded her of not only who she is, but who she could become.

"If that means hauling your ass out of bed and putting everything on hold to save someone who's clearly not gonna save herself, then so be it. Sharpen your toy sword, MG. We're going on an adventure," Lizzie declares with her signature edge, one that left no room for argument.

"Listen, I'm proud of you for wanting to help. But, Lizzie, your parents would not like you going off by yourself without any real protection. As you know, I'm still in training," he reminds her.

"They don't need to know about this. They'd just try to stop me. And we both know that you would protect me better than any of those clueless guards that let the crown get stolen in the first place."

"Okay. Say hypothetically I agree to accompany you on your quest and we find Hope, who's known for being a recluse, what then?"

"We convince her to hand over the crown, I mock how she has probably forgotten the concept of bathing for old times sake — because, let's face it, criminals are smelly. And once the crown is back, safe and sound, I get my parents to pardon her. I'm very persuasive and they both have a soft spot for her, anyway. It'll be a piece of cake." Lizzie shrugs.

"I don't think it will be that easy. Hope isn't the most trustworthy person as of late, and even with me as a guide, you in the wild... wouldn't go smoothly. Are you sure you're up for this?"

"I will be fine. I am perfectly capable of taking a few long strolls in order to be the hero and save the day and, you know, gain back the love of the people." The blonde sighed dreamily, imagining a victorious success that included banners, live music, and dances in her honor. According to her perspective, you didn't have to be a literal knight in shining armor to be someone's savior, you just had to be intuitive.

MG stares warily at her. By any means does he not mean to underestimate her, but he cannot help but worry about if they did cross that line, if they got caught up in the web of crooks and criminals, she would end up hurt. Generals claimed he did well in all his trials, but he needed to have confidence behind his moves, more trust in himself. This could be an opportunity for him to do just that because Lizzie was right. He would protect her better than anyone. He would make sure no one laid a finger on her.

"Okay," he agrees, something that pulls Lizzie from her daydreams of triumph.

Her eyebrows raise. "Really?"

"Yes. We can leave tonight. No one will know we're gone until the morning, and by then we'll be way ahead of them."

Lizzie's lips tug up in what would normally be a satisfied smirk but instead held qualities of something more genuine, intimate. MG shares a similar look.

"I knew I could count you," she says, voicing her thoughts.


End file.
